Rainydays
by Fish-Inton
Summary: 5 weeks of paid vacation time goes from boring to surreal for Clarice Starling when the world is tipped upside down for her... CHAPTER 11 POSTED
1. and so it begins

Disclaimer: Lyrics used (#...#) are not mine, they are from Oasis' album, (What's The Story) Morning Glory? I do not own any of the characters created by Thomas Harris either. Ivan Goranosovitch is my own creation (Gor-an-'o'-so-vitch)  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# Nobody ever mentions the weather can make or break your day #  
  
Clarice Starling was watching the weather forecast on the news, stretched out on her sofa. She'd been forced to take the five weeks of paid vacation time that had gradually built up. No work. What would she do? She had already cleaned the house five times since waking up too early.  
  
~ DAMN MY INTERNAL TIME KEEPING SYSTEMS! ~ she cursed lazily. Clarice stood and stretched, today was going to be rainy, she was going to have to stay indoors.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# Nobody ever seems to remember life is a game we play #  
  
Doctor Hannibal Lecter, for the shadow was he, observed Clarice Starling's house from the tree. He watched the lights go out one by one. Apparently, she hadn't gone to work today. Well, he hadn't seen her all day.  
  
~ Little Starling, where are you? ~ he thought playfully, moving smoothly to his Jaguar XJL to wait in the dry, for it was beginning to rain again.  
  
LET THE GAMES BEGIN!  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# You gotta say what you say don't let anybody get in your way #  
  
Ivan stood on the side of the road, soaked through to the skin.  
  
~ DAMN VAN! ~ he acrimoniously thought. The van had sped past him, sending a wave of rainwater overwhelming him, no doubt leaving him with some sort of chill or flu.  
  
He'd had to go to the office today, even though he was supposed to be on holiday. There was an assignment that only an experienced photographer and journalist could handle. Ivan Goranosovitch was that experienced photographer and journalist, he could take normal holiday snaps and make them appear as carefully staged scenes or planned screenshots from a movie. Goranosovitch could match the quality of his photographs with his reports for The National Tattler, the news company he had his current contract with.  
  
He had accepted this particular assignment for the bonus pay and promise of a higher salary. He could do this assignment easily. His vacation could be postponed, this could not.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# I don't believe that anybody feels the way I do about you now #  
  
She tossed and turned in her sleep, haunted by the lambs which never ceased to scream. Out of nowhere, HE appeared, as he had done so many times in her dreams before. He led the lambs away, he stopped their screaming, they were silenced.   
  
She did not awaken.   
  
She was at peace.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Doctor Lecter stood over Clarice Starling, watching her as she tossed and turned. He brushed a few strands of her auburn hair away from her face, resting the palm of his hand on her forehead.  
  
"Shhhhhh..." he whispered softly, "let the lambs come away with me, Clarice," his voice was barely above a whisper by now. He was pleasantly surprised when she did not stir, instead, she calmed and slept silently. She ceased to toss and turn and was more or less at peace while he stood there, the Doctor was admittedly pleased with her reaction.  
  
~ Hmmm... I know your secret, little Starling, now I need you to acknowledge your feelings, for your own good... ~ he mused before leaving the house as silently as he came, but not for long.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Ivan was swaggering down the street, somehow managing to stay on the sidewalk. He was drunk. Staggering and squinting, he saw a man in a heavy and dark long over coat. The man seemed to glide to the flash looking Jaguar and moved it to the driveway of Ivan's newest assignment. Clarice Starling.  
  
~ What I wouldn't do to get a piece o' that... ~ leered his perverted and drunken mind. He collapsed to the floor as his legs gave way and had a laughing fit. The man in the over coat got out of the Jaguar and briefly looked at the drunken Ivan Goranosovitch with amusement.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
~ Drunks ~ thought Doctor Lecter as he ascended the stairs and entered Clarice's bedroom once more. As silently and carefully as he could manage, the Doctor lifted the slumbering Clarice Starling from the warmth of her bed. A ghost of a smile passed his lips when Clarice snuggled against his broad chest. Overcoat in tow, he carefully set Clarice on the backseat of the Jaguar XJL and put a large blanket over her slim body. He studied her carefully for a moment.  
  
~ Hmmm... a little too thin... ~ he looked to her eyes, noticing the bags under them ~ more like suitcases actually, in desperate need of rest and relaxation... ~ he chuckled to himself, not too loudly though, in case his little Starling awoke. ~ It's time for me to pamper you, Clarice, my dear ~ he thought to himself and skirted around the car to slide smoothly into the drivers seat, closing the door with care. Putting the Jaguar into gear, he left the street and the house as it had been before... but he didn't notice the drunk, lying on his stomach on the sidewalk, staring, dumbfounded at the number plate of the car, holding a small camera level enough to take a few more shots.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# I took a walk with my fame down memory lane, I never did find my way back #  
  
Goranosovitch had managed to get seven shots of the man bringing the woman, whom he assumed to be Clarice Starling, out of her home. Then he realised, through his drunken haze, who the man was. Although drunk, Ivan still held his sharp mind. He took more photos of the car pulling away and then zoomed in on the number plates. They would be slightly blurred, he knew, but the plates could be tracked and Ivan would be an essential part in the capture and imprisonment of Hannibal 'the cannibal' Lecter. He would be famous.  
  
~ Then I'll get me some Clarice Starling... ~ he thought as he staggered off to the office, back the way he came. Ivan was so caught up in his own little fantasy world of fame, he did not notice the rain starting to pour again, nor did he care that it was one o'clock in the morning. 


	2. kidnapped?

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
It was two o'clock in the morning, Hannibal Lecter, dripping with rainwater, brought Clarice into the large, isolated country house he currently occupied and set her on the sofa in the spacious living room. He left the room for a moment or two, using the time to close the front door and shed his sunglasses and soaked over coat. In the living room again, the pinwheels in his maroon eyes reflected the light from the fire, as if sparks flew from his very core. He was wearing black slacks and a silk shirt that matched the colour of his eyes, the overall effect of his chosen attire made him look more relaxed that menacing. He looked normal.  
  
He sighed deeply. Nobody alive today has ever seen Doctor Hannibal Lecter look so undecided, except the mirror in the hall, but that is a thing and not a person, so technically the statement is correct depending entirely on what your interpretation of a person is... (A/N: "Mwahahahaaa! Beat that for confusion!")  
  
Clarice fidgeted.  
  
~ You, dear little Starling, are a natural born fidget... ~ he sighed once more, this time in slight amusement, and left her to her beauty sleep for the rest of the morning. Clarice was locked in, she didn't know where she was and it was unlikely she'd actually escape without him knowing it... that and the floorboards were particularly prone to creaking at the most inappropriate times.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
A slightly more sober Ivan Goranosovitch was singing off key at the office in the dark room. He could catch Hannibal Lecter red-handed as he finished off Clarice Starling.  
  
~ Let him have his last meal, then move in. ~ Ivan plotted as he developed the films in the dark room.  
  
True to his hypothesis, the photos of the number plates on the Jaguar were blurred, but only slightly, he could just make out the numbers and letters. The silhouette of the infamous cannibal was visible entering and exiting Clarice Starling's house, crossing the street, moving the Jaguar XJL and emerging once more from the house with Clarice Starling in his arms.  
  
"Show me the money." Goranosovitch muttered to himself.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Clarice woke up in a dark place. She knew she wasn't at home anymore.  
  
"We're not in Kansas anymore, Toto." she muttered to herself and laughed aloud at her run down sense of humour. A glance at her glow in the dark watch informed her that it was four o'clock in the morning.  
  
Clarice looked around the room, objects were illuminated slightly by the moon outside the window. It appeared she was in a large living room, sitting on a large and oh-so-comfortable sofa.  
  
"Hell, this is better than Kansas!" she continued to talk to herself.   
  
Clarice stood abruptly as realisation hit her, immediately falling over a coffee table.  
  
"No prizes for guessing who's taken me hostage... again..." she said as she stood and rubbed her elbow. "But where is the host?" Clarice wondered aloud.  
  
Deciding to take a look around, she moved into the moonlit hall. The front door was the last thing she was going to try.  
  
~ It's probably locked already ~ she told herself, knowing all too well that the Doctor was not a stupid sort of person. Clarice continued to explore, taking her time and being careful of strategically placed coffee tables waiting to be tripped on.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Doctor Lecter crouched in the corner of the kitchen, behind the door. Knowing his Clarice, she would never guess he was hiding behind a door.  
  
He listened, repressing the urge to laugh aloud as he heard an all too familiar 'oof' as she tripped on the coffee table. He himself had managed to do that a few times, but as much as he wanted to throw the old coffee table out, he loved it and couldn't seem to bring harm to it... they were attached, the coffee table and the Good Doctor.  
  
He heard a shuffle as she made her way along the hall, using the wall as her guide.  
  
~ It's a good thing the basement door is shut... ~ he thought to himself as he listened to her soft yelp of surprise when she found the door handle to the basement. Still he made no sound.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
~ It's a doorknob! JUST A FREAKING DOORKNOB! okay, calm down, girl! ~ Clarice calmed herself.  
  
She had found a door handle, probably leading to the basement. She shuddered, knowing all too well what Hannibal 'the cannibal' Lecter kept in his basement... or had kept in his basement.  
  
~ I'll bet my spare room'd beat the state and contents of his basement any day! ~ Clarice made a silent bet with herself and repressed the urge to snort her laughter at the idea of the Good Doctor entering her spare room. She had no doubt he'd pass out, either from disgust, or the spare room really did lack clean oxygen.  
  
~ Stop kidding yourself, girl! It IS that bad! ~ she yelled at herself mentally.  
  
~ So, back to this... place... ~ Clarice realised that she was still pressed against the wall and the door... having no idea of how long she had actually been standing there, against the wall and the door, thinking about basements and spare rooms, yelling mentally and stopping herself from laughing, nor did she care. She continued edging her way along the wall, wondering where the kitchen was as her stomach gave loud growl.  
  
~ He'd better have a fridge... with NORMAL food. ~  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Goranosovitch had faxed his message through to his boss. True, it was nearly four thirty in the morning, but this was an important matter that wouldn't wait.  
  
The phone in his office rang.  
  
"Ivan's taxidermists, you snuff 'em we stuff 'em..."  
  
"Don't mess around, Goranosovitch."  
  
"Oh, hey, Boss."  
  
"You're not playing games here, with this Lecter-Starling business?" the Boss got straight to the matter at hand.  
  
"Would I lie to you?"  
  
"probably."  
  
"Whatever, anyways, I got some info."  
  
As you said... number plates, was it?  
  
"Yeah, the plates, the shots are a little blurred, but I can just make it out."  
  
"I'm going to leave this 'til morning... don't you ever sleep?"  
  
"Not much, Sir." Ivan shrugged to himself.  
  
"Well, get some. If this stuff's the real deal, you're gonna be busy."  
  
"And big?" Ivan asked hopefully.  
  
"Yeah, we'll make you bigger than Lounds." Goranosovitch's eyes lit up. Ivan had one dream - to be bigger than Freddy Lounds in The National Tattler, now he could make that dream a reality.  
  
"Freddy Lounds?" he asked stupidly.  
  
"Who else you think I'm talking about?!"  
  
"Sorry, Sir, I guess I am a little tired."  
  
"Right, well, get some sleep and be early to work. We got a lot to do, kid."  
  
"Yes, Sir."  
  
"And Ivan?"  
  
"Yes, Sir?"  
  
"Don't mess this up."  
  
"Whatever." but the Boss had hung up, Ivan was talking to the dial tone. It was true, Ivan would be busy tomorrow. He shut down his computer and left the office and the building, heading for his small motorhome.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Clarice had managed to refrain from tripping on any more coffee tables since the living room incident. Feeling slightly more confident as she explored in the darkness, she left the wall. Leaving the wall, as she soon discovered, was not the best idea. Clarice Starling, killing machine of the FBI (on leave), found the kitchen. How she figured out it was the kitchen we will never know for certain. Although her thoughts at the time might give us some insight.  
  
~ Mmm... carpety goodness... gagh! Cold floor! COLD FLOOR! ~ stressing over a cold floor is rather out of character for Clarice Starling, but she did, regardless of where she was. Maybe she just wasn't expecting a cold floor, or maybe she was just being silly, for once.   
  
As Clarice soon found, the floor of the new room was not only cold, but slippery, hence the reason she should have stuck to the wall. Miraculously, she managed to stay on her feet and slide across the slippery, cold floor at the same time.   
  
~ Okay, ow! ~ was Clarice's first thought when she hit a door ~ I'm in a kitchen... and... erm... in front of a door? ~ She thought some more and opened the door, convinced it led to somewhere, and attempted to walk through it.  
  
  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
The Good Doctor had managed to muffle his laughter as he heard another yelp of surprise from Clarice as she entered the kitchen. He controlled his laughter as she slid across the floor, wondering if she'd lose her balance. When she found the 'snack cupboard', he wondered exactly what she would do next.  
  
~ Hmmm... what are you up to, Clarice? ~ he wondered to himself. He could not contain his laughter anymore when she tried to walk through the cupboard. Having attempted to walk through the cupboard with a fair force, she fell back with a shower of tins and packets. Lecter just laughed and laughed and laughed.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
She heard the laughter as soon as she'd fallen backwards, landing on her backside. Clarice looked around, trying to find the owner of the laugh. As he, for the laugh was decidedly masculine, continued to laugh, Clarice wondered exactly what she had done that was so funny.  
  
~ I fell over... it's not funny... ~ she thought stubbornly. She stood, leaving the tins where they were for the while and went around the room looking for a lightswitch. Instead of a lightswitch, she hit something warm, falling backwards again. The something laughed again and flipped on the kitchen lights.  
  
Doctor Hannibal Lecter, more red eyed from laughing than usual, stood before her, still shaking as he held in his laughter, hand on the lightswitch. Clarice looked back at the mess of tins on the kitchen floor and realised why he had laughed so much. She hadn't been walking through a door, she had attempted walking through a large cupboard, full of tins and stuff.  
  
As if confirming her earlier conjecture as she locked gazes with him, he nodded.  
  
~ Oh... My... God... ~ she thought ~ stupid, stupid, stupid... RUN! ~ she gave a little squeal and bolted for the kitchen door. The Doctor, however, was wise to her game and caught her before she could get out of the room.  
  
"Lemme go!" she cried out.  
  
"No, no... not now." he said, a smile spreading across his face. 


	3. fricking is a useful word

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# Some might say we will find a brighter day #  
  
Goranosovitch had not found sleep, the sky was becoming a lighter shade of blue grey as the sun rose behind the dark rainclouds outside. He decided to take a shower and think about possible reports and what-not for The National Tattler's headlines.  
  
The shower was a wake up as was the three cups of black coffee that followed. The clock in the kitchen ticked the time by as Ivan slurped his coffee. It was heading for six o'clock. Ivan yawned.  
  
He went to the living room and flipped through the channels. Ivan had decided to leave for work half an hour earlier. Watching the weather forecast, Ivan stared past the TV, instead, he listened, leaning his head back looking to the ceiling.  
  
"NOT AGAIN!" he yelled at the ceiling. He hated the rain.   
  
It's not raining yet... he reminded himself, calming slightly. Deciding to chance the weather and beat the rain, an agitated Ivan Goranosovitch took his camera and bag and left, locking the door to his motorhome as he left.   
  
Today, he would secure his fame.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Clarice sighed heavily in exasperation. She struggled against her bonds.  
  
"Something wrong, Special Agent Starling?" the metallic rasp of the Good Doctor's voice cut like a knife through the silence of the dim room.  
  
"Shut up." she replied coldly, trying to figure out how to get out of the predicament she was in.  
  
"Now, now, that's no way to talk to an old friend."   
  
"Friend? Ha! Yeah, right... whatever." Clarice snorted involuntarily, earning a chuckle from Lecter. She struggled some more.  
  
"Hmmm... well, if you're quite happy where you are."  
  
"Like you were actually gonna untie me!" She said, almost knocking the chair she was tied to over.  
  
"Actually, I was considering it." he admitted.  
  
"Okay..."  
  
"No, no... you've made it quite clear you're happy where you are."  
  
"I was HAPPY back at my own home in my own bed... asleep!"  
  
"Were you?"  
  
Clarice hesitated. "Yes..."   
  
"Tsk, tsk, tsk... I thought you knew better than to lie to me, Clarice."  
  
"Oh yeah, sorry, I forgot... you're a human fricking lie detector... must've slipped my below average mind there." Clarice spat her words out at him. But her words did little to subdue the exceedingly cheery mood Doctor Lecter was in. "Why the fricking hell are you here? Why am I here?!"  
  
"When a man loves a woman..." Doctor Lecter began.  
  
"NOT LIKE THAT!!!" She shook her head.   
  
~ This guy is impossible ~ she almost laughed at that, Doctor Lecter being impossible. It WAS an entertaining thought.  
  
"Mmmm... but of course..."  
  
"But of course..." she imitated him, "what the fricking hell is that supposed to mean?!"  
  
"Have you ever noticed whenever you get agitated or angry, your vocabulary is immediately shortened to one word you seem to put to extensive use..."  
  
"What fricking word is that supposed to fricking be?!"  
  
"Fricking..." he sighed.  
  
"Well, that's abso-fricking-loutely fan-fricking-tastic! You're too fricking observant!" Clarice raised her voice.  
  
"Thank you." he said monotonously.  
  
"That wasn't a compliment."  
  
"I know." he nodded.  
  
"Then why thank me? Why the frick am I here?!"  
  
"Why are you here? Hmmm... now, there's a question!" the Doctor said excitedly. Clarice waited for him to hop around the room clapping and yelling the word 'FUN!' repeatedly... but he didn't. "I wanted to talk with you, Clarice, you still owe me some information, you know." (A/N: I still say the clapping and hopping would've been better)  
  
"Yah, right... what information?!"  
  
"Have the lambs stopped screaming?"  
  
"Oh... erm... well, yes and no."  
  
"Yes and no? Care to expand on that answer."  
  
"Actually-" she began.  
  
"I wasn't giving you a choice, Clarice." he intervened.  
  
"Fine, yes, they sometimes go away. But they're always there, most nights anyway."  
  
"Only at night?"  
  
"Yeah." he frowned "I mean 'Yes, oh mysterious and evil overlord of the night!'" she said in an exaggerated stereotypical English accent.  
  
"Why do you suppose that is?" he pressed the subject further, ignoring her childish behaviour.  
  
"No idea, you're the shrink here, DOCTOR Lecter." she retorted sourly.  
  
"True... but I was me-" he began to give a speech, promising to be long and boring, but was cut short by a certain woman tied to a chair, getting mad.  
  
"No, you're not here to get anything outta me. I've made a decision, and I've decided to shut up." Clarice stated.  
  
"Suit yourself." he shrugged. Clarice had clamed up, she did not reply. "You're very stubborn, did you know that, Clarice?" no answer. Her eyes were unreadable and glazed over. "Indeed." he contemplated the situation for a brief moment. "Well, I suggest you get some sleep, after all, we have a lot of work to do tomorrow." that set her off.  
  
"Work? Work? What about WORK?!" she screeched at him, but the Doctor wasn't listening, he just slipped out of the room, closing the door behind him, making no sound. "Shithouse fricking mouse, what does it fricking take?!" Clarice struggled against her bonds again. "I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE A BONDAGE FAN!" she yelled out to him.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Glancing at his Rolex, Lecter saw it was ten minutes to seven. The Doctor listened after he'd left the room Clarice was in.   
  
"Shithouse fricking mouse, what does it fricking take?!" he heard, causing him to chuckle softly.  
  
Ever the warrior, Clarice... he mused as she ranted on.  
  
"I DIDN'T KNOW YOU WERE A BONDAGE FAN!" she yelled. This, the Good Doctor found rather unfunny. In fact, he considered it rude. He hadn't realised he'd stormed into the room and gripped the chair holding Clarice until he saw her eyes and registered the fear in them. Lecter did not let go of the chair, instead, he hissed his words in her ear.  
  
"Do not anger me, Special Agent Starling, I will not tolerate rudeness. Do you understand?"  
  
"Umm... yeah."  
  
"Not yeah."  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Better." He moved away from the chair. Leaving her rather gobsmacked, having never actually seen the Good Doctor angry before.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
There was an awkward silence, Clarice decided to 'break the silence', so to speak. (s'cuse the crappy pun)  
  
"Erm... Doctor Lecter?"  
  
"Yes, Clarice?"  
  
"Could you untie me?" he raised an eyebrow. "I won't try and kill you, or knock you out, or... harm you in... any... way." she said carefully, remembering the fanfiction she had read a while back where the Good Doctor had his... 'thing' stepped on. She held back her laughter, shaking slightly. She couldn't help reading the fanfics written about 'them'... the things people thought they got up to! She skipped the romance fics though. The gore was the best.   
  
~ I LIVE ON GORE! ~ she mentally punched the air and did her victory dance she had recently found herself physically and mentally performing whenever she felt joy or something like that. ~ I wonder if Kurt's written anymore of his fic... ~ she wondered. Clarice snapped out of her reverie when she realised Lecter was talking to her.  
  
"... do you understand?" she caught the end of his speech.  
  
~ Oh, crap... what did he say? What?! Wait... What do I say?! ~ then an idea came to her.  
  
"Yes, Doctor, I understand that shoes are not allowed indoors and I couldn't agree more that ball games should not be played near your prized flowers or statues in the back garden."  
  
"Good." he replied, beginning to loosen her bonds. Clarice was speechless, he had actually said no ball games or shoes in the house!  
  
~ He ACTUALLY said that?! Oh... My... fricking God! ~ she celebrated with her victory dance again. Little did Clarice know, Doctor Lecter had said nothing like that. Then again, she didn't need to know what he had said, he knew she had not been listening to a word. 


	4. and still the past haunts him

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
(A/N: I forgot about Goranosovitch, so here's a bit for him.)  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# The days are long and the nights will throw you away cause the sun don't shine #  
  
Ivan Goranosovitch looked around his office. To the right, a small window and a copy of a painting of a Welsh landscape. To the left, a door. Straight ahead, a cork message board full of drawing pins, a dartboard above it. Behind him and his desk, four large filing cabinets. Ivan sighed heavily. His boss came into the room then.  
  
The Boss, otherwise known as Mr Pendlesmythe, was a huge man, with a tiny head and tiny feet. His proportions made him look rather comical in appearance, but in personality terms, the man was an ogre. He was a formidable creature, capable of firing anybody in The National Tattler's offices. He was the Boss.  
  
"Goranosovitch." The Boss greeted Ivan.  
  
"Morning, Boss."  
  
"Now, these photos."  
  
"Something wrong, Sir?" Ivan sat up straight.  
  
"Yes, wrong."  
  
"What is it?"  
  
"The plates and car belong to a Mister Davies." the Boss was obviously trying not to show his anger at the discovery, but Ivan could tell he was mad... madder than mad, at the mistake.  
  
"How'd you know?!"  
  
"I called the FBI and they checked it all out this morning when you faxed." he replied gruffly.  
  
"Oh..." Ivan considered the situation for a second. "Boss?"  
  
"What?!" the Boss snapped.  
  
"Uh... ah... you don't suppose it was Lecter."   
  
"What are you saying?"  
  
"Well... you know how he's the 'Master of Disguise' and all that... he might have got dummy plates. Just stuck 'em over the real ones, it's easily done, ya know." Goranosovitch shrugged.  
  
"Watch your slang, boy."  
  
"Sorry, Sir."  
  
"Dummy plates? Maybe. We'll check it out. Sit tight."  
  
"Will do, Sir." Ivan watched the Boss leave and let himself sink into his chair. 'Sit tight', what did that mean? Was he supposed to sit in his stuffy little office all day? The Boss said he'd be busy today.   
  
He wasn't busy.  
  
~ "Well, Ivan, what do you make of all this crap? Not what you expected, was it? Hmmm?" ~ the voice of Ivan's late Uncle pierced his mind. The man had taught him discipline, not that Ivan showed he was disciplined at all. He knew all the dos and don'ts of etiquette and stuff.   
  
~ No, it's not what I expected, but you knew that anyway. Just... go... away! ~ Ivan yelled at the coarse, gruff voice of his Uncle. Ivan had to deal with the voice all day. Ever since the man died, his voice had been in Ivan's head. Goranosovitch put up with the voice, but occasionally felt a pang of guilt in the pit of his stomach. His Uncle had died in under rather suspicious circumstances, but Ivan didn't think about it much.   
  
Since he had nothing to do, his mind wandered.   
  
Through the memories he had. His mother, the one time he ever saw her. His Uncle. His first pet, a parrot, which flew into the microwave and managed to cook itself somehow. His Uncle. The dog hat threw itself down the manhole and broke its legs. His Uncle.  
  
It seemed that no matter what Ivan thought about, his Uncle invaded the thoughts.  
  
He remembered the times then. Clearer than usual.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"Alma!"   
  
"Yes, Ted?" a woman poked her head around the corner of the door.  
  
"Where's ma brandy?"  
  
"Next to the sofa, Ted!" she replied, returning to the room she was in before.  
  
"Oh, Yeah!" the small, ginger haired boy, clad in oversized denim jeans and an old t-shirt entered the living room. "Ivan, boy. Siddown." the Uncle of the small boy, the much younger Ivan Goranosovitch, commanded. Since the man was drunk, his words slurred badly.  
  
"Yes, Uncle." the boy obediently sat on the small stool in the corner, the stool he usually sat on. Ivan did not like sitting next to his Uncle. The man reeked of beer and other ales and spirits and he was incredibly annoying.  
  
"Now, I'm going to talk ta yer about the time I went down ta the sea an saw that boat you was talkin bout reading bout at school." the old man sat up. He was considerably older than his brother, Ivan's father, who had run off with some model years ago.  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"Not yeah!" the Uncle hit Ivan round the side of his head.  
  
"Sorry, Uncle. I meant to say yes."  
  
"You better be sorry." the man observed Ivan for a second before continuing. "Anyways, I..." and the tale went on for several hours. By the time the old man was finished talking about a boat and the sea, Ivan was sleepy. The boy took himself to bed after bidding his mother a goodnight.   
  
If only he'd known what was going on downstairs. While Ivan slept, his drunk Uncle staggered into the room his mother, Alma, stayed in most of the time. After seeing her looking at a picture of his brother, the love still in her eyes, he decided to teach her a lesson she'd remember.   
  
Silently taking a belt from the hook behind the door, the drunk approached Alma. She turned around to see him, holding the belt, raising the belt, she began to scream, he brought the buckle end of the belt down forcefully upon her.  
  
"Why,"  
  
Bringing the leather and the buckle down again.  
  
"Do you,"  
  
Again.  
  
"Always look at that stupid picture?!"  
  
And once more.  
  
"He's not comin back, Alma!" he yelled in her face, spraying saliva as he yelled out. The woman curled herself into a ball on the floor, trying desperately not to shed the tears welling up in her eyes. Ted wasn't having any of this, he dragged her outside, left her out in the worsening storm, went inside and locked the doors. Alma took shelter beneath a tree, soaked to the skin by the heavy rain, she sank to the floor and cried, howling her pain in time with the storm.  
  
Ivan was still in bed, when he awoke the next morning and bounded down the stairs, as kids do, he noticed his mother, under the old tree outside, on the floor. Something was not right. He called for his Uncle, but he was still asleep and Ivan knew the consequences of waking The Uncle from his slumber, although most nights, the man just passed out rather than falling asleep.  
  
Young Ivan Goranosovitch ran outside and looked at his mother. She was weeping and soaked through. Before she realised he had been there at all, Ivan ran indoors and got the old blanket from the side of the sofa and took it outside to Alma.  
  
"It's okay, mama." Ivan said, noticing several marks on her.  
  
"Ivan." she cried then, glad that her boy was safe.   
  
"it's okay." he repeated.  
  
Ivan helped Alma indoors and sat her on the sofa. He made her some coffee and closed the door again. He found the belt on the floor of the kitchen and returned it to its place behind the door of the small room full of boxes his mother spent her time in.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
It was four hours later Ivan decided to call the Doctor out. Alma was shaking all over and was delusional.   
  
The Doctor had come and gone again. Alma had pneumonia. It was serious. She didn't answer any of his questions about why she had been out in the storm all night. Ivan knew that the Doctor thought his mother was an eccentric now, but he didn't care. Ivan knew she wouldn't do that unless she was forced to, or had a reason.  
  
Three weeks after the Doctor had given his diagnosis, Ivan Goranosovitch stood at her grave. His mother. Dead. Cold. Underground. Gone. Ted, Ivan's Uncle, had not come to the funeral. Ivan didn't see him much now. Ted wasn't around much, he stayed upstairs or on the sofa, unconscious most of the time. He was different too, Ivan had noticed, Ted didn't talk to him anymore and got agitated really quickly at the slightest thing. Like the day he started screaming blue murder at a pile of socks in the laundry basket. Ivan worried for his Uncle.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
It was Ivan's seventeenth birthday. Ted had managed to stay conscious, but couldn't seem to shut up. Words flew from his mouth without consideration. Irrelevant information went straight through Ivan's head, but numbers of bank accounts and pin codes stayed in his memory.   
  
"... Yeah, and that Alma... heh... taught her a lesson. Shouldn't a been lookin at that friggin picture. Yeah, she got ma meanin. Good thing ya kept the ole belt."   
  
Ivan caught most of this and pieced together what his Uncle was referring to. The event that contributed greatly to his mother's passing. So, it was Ted's fault. The image of the belt on the kitchen floor flashed in Ivan's mind as the rage bubbled inside. He knew what had happened now. Ted had to pay.  
  
The young Goranosovitch listened to his Uncle for the rest of the day. By night, Ivan plotted his Uncle's eventual fate. He came to a decision five days later.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Ted was asleep. Ivan crept into his room. It was about three in the morning. Ivan left a large tankard of brandy, mixed with a dose of rat poison, on the bedside table. Ted always had brandy in the morning.  
  
Ivan would hide the evidence tomorrow.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Ivan smiled at the memories now. He felt no remorse for what he did. He DID go all catatonic for a time, and was sent to a psychiatrist for therapy. He had gladly co-operated, knowing that he was not blamed for any of what happened to Ted. It was a closed case. Ted had committed suicide.  
  
Although Ivan's therapist seemed to think that Ted hadn't committed suicide. That therapist being Doctor Hannibal Lecter, hence the reason Ivan wanted to help catch him. Even if it meant catching the monster himself. 


	5. his past haunts his future

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Lecter watched Clarice as she shuffled abut the large country house. He had allowed her access to all rooms except his study and his private bedroom. The doors were locked, but he felt he needed to tell her where his private territory was.   
  
She shuffled around the kitchen, sliding about on her socks a little more. The Doctor did not say anything, he just observed her actions. She nosed about for a bit in the cutlery drawers and looked around at the kitchen utensils.  
  
"So... how long have you been 'living' here?" she asked, making polite conversation.  
  
"Oh, not for long," he thought for a second, "I must have been here now for three months and four days." Clarice stood stone still.  
  
"That's quite a while." she said quietly.  
  
"As I said back when we conversed Memphis, we don't reckon time the same way."  
  
"We didn't converse." she replied.  
  
"Really? What DID we do then? Hmmm? What would YOU call it, Special Agent Starling."  
  
"Why?!" she suddenly rose her voice at him.  
  
"'Why?!' what?" Doctor Lecter regarded Clarice with curiosity.  
  
"Why is it that every time we 'converse', you always tun it into some sort of damned therapy time?!" she exploded at him, anger radiating from her. Anger and confusion.  
  
"I wasn't aware that was the case. Not that you don't need therapy." he replied calmly.  
  
"Shut up." she muttered, loud enough for him to hear.  
  
"No."  
  
"Fine." she went back to looking around the kitchen.  
  
"Fine." he mimicked. Clarice began to giggle. "What, may I ask, is so funny?"  
  
"That was normal."  
  
"What?"  
  
"The way we had a miniature argument there... do you do this often?"  
  
"Clarice, this is no way to talk-" he began.  
  
"Why? Hmmm? Is it because it's too 'normal' for you? Hmmm? Answer me that, Doctor Lecter." he said nothing in reply. "There you go again. You just can't admit defeat."  
  
And she hits the nail on the head... Lecter thought as he attempted to form an answer to her questions.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# Maybe you're gonna be the one that saves me #  
  
"Would you care to see the dining room?" The Doctor switched the subject quickly. Clarice decided to drop it. He'd deny the defeat but it was true. He just wouldn't admit it.  
  
~ Psh... yah, right... I WIN! I WIN! ~ Clarice did the victory dance again. ~ Wait. Why hasn't he done anything yet? Like made me a meal or some crud like that? Because he's trying to control me. Maybe, by my acting like this big kid I'm feeling like at the moment, he won't control me. Maybe I can find a phone! Maybe... ~ she plotted silently.  
  
"Lead the way." Clarice replied as Lecter led her to the dining room through the real door in the kitchen. (A/N: I'm still thinking about the cupboard incident) The dining room was, like everywhere the Doctor resided, tastefully furnished and cosy. Clarice found herself becoming drowsy.  
  
"This," he began, "is the dining room. The door across from us is the door leading through to the living room. You are welcome to come into this room and the living room whenever you please."  
  
"Whoa! Slow down...rewind." Clarice stopped him. "What do you mean whenever I please?! I'm not staying here."  
  
"Where exactly are you going to go then?"  
  
"Erm... hitchhike!" she suggested excitedly.  
  
"Clarice... for the last time..."  
  
"What? Hmmm? What for the last time? Shouldn't I be saying that? Huh? FOR THE LAST TIME... let me GO!"  
  
"No."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"Because I cannot do that."   
  
"WHY though? Huh? WHY not? Give me a reason."  
  
"Because I will not allow myself to let you go." He muttered, but Clarice heard every word he said.  
  
"Well, that is just EXCELLENT!" Clarice stated sarcastically.  
  
"Clarice, we need to talk."  
  
"Yeah, we don't do that often, do we?" She spat at him, cooling off slowly.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"Our 'conversations' always seem like constant Quid Pro Quo or something... we never seem to hold a conversation, it's weird." Clarice said calmly.  
  
"Oh... right..." Doctor Lecter said, a look of confusion on his face. For the first time, Clarice realised that he was not masking his emotions. He was confused, and she understood why. It was, after all, a decidedly odd situation. Lecter led Clarice into the living room and sat in a large armchair, he motioned to the sofa. "Take a seat." He said bluntly.  
  
"Thankyou." Clarice mumbled as she sat.  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
"Right, what do you want to talk about?"  
  
"Us."  
  
"Whoa... start from something else... why don't we start with you?" Lecter regarded Starling with a confused expression again. "I figure that you know pretty much everything about me. And how much do I know about you?" She thought ad realised she knew very little.  
  
~ Oh my God! This could be a turning point! Mwahahahaaa! ~ Clarice thought triumphantly accompanied once again by the victory dance.  
  
"Okey-Dokey then." The Doctor sighed and shifted a little in his seat. "I'll start from the beginning," Clarice turned to him, listening attentively to what he was going to say. "I used to have a younger sister. Mischa was her name. She was my whole world. It happened when I was six years old, Mischa was two. I- I tried to save her... it- I..." he caught his breath and restarted where he left off. "I was six years old, my parents left us both at our large home. My father was a count. Count Lecter... heh... seems a little old fashioned now, I should also be 'Count' Lecter... but on with this...   
  
"It was winter and the war was still leaving its effects wherever it could. The devastation we heard of was terrible. When my parents did not return, I became worried. The servants also seemed to notice that my parents had been away for longer that they had said." Clarice nodded, she could see where this was headed.   
  
"After a few more weeks, Russian-Nazi deserters took over our estate. The servants left us and when we were found, we were locked in a barn." Clarice noted the tears in his eyes, they would not be shed, she knew, but they were there. "I had saved some food for Mischa and we survived. When the deserters ran out of the food, they had to go in search for more. I remember them slaying a young deer, dragging it along the snow of the harsh winter, leaving a bloody trail. They managed on the deer. After another day or two, they led one of the other children form the barn, convincing him that he was going out to play. He never returned, nor did the next three. About one week after the first child was led from the barn, myself and Mischa were left. The soldiers came into the barn. They checked me for meat, my thigh, my chest and my stomach, but apparently, I was not their choice. They caught Mischa and took her from the barn, I was still holding her had. I would not let her go. In the end, I had to. The deserters slammed the door on my small arm, shattering the bones." A single tear rolled down his cheek.   
  
"I prayed and prayed and prayed so hard... for her to come back, that she would be fine, that we would escape. But she didn't. In time, the deserters moved on. I did see Mischa again, one last time. I saw her milk teeth, in the stool pit they used... I was destroyed. American troops found me and fed me, keeping me alive, even though I wanted destiny to bestow death upon my head. I did not want to continue." Clarice also shed a single tear, for him. She knew it was hard losing a loved one, but to lose his sister, see her remains after being cannibalised. He shed another tear, and another. But he did not cry. Hannibal Lecter hadn't cried since he lost his beloved sister. Another tear. Silent tears, coursing down the face of the monster. Pure emotion. Lecter looked away for a moment to compose himself.  
  
"So, is that why you are a cannibal?"  
  
"You know, I can't answer that. I think it was an influence, but I really don't know what set me off." He replied, ever the controlled cannibal, no trace of tears.  
  
"You might have PTSD." Clarice suggested.  
  
"Post Traumatic Stress Disorder? Perhaps... it's not impossible, you know."  
  
"I know." Clarice thought for a second. "That must've been terrible for you. I can't even begin to imagine what you went through."  
  
"Mmm... I don't imagine many people do."  
  
"I agree. So, that got you to what? Age seven now? I hate to press on, but what next?"  
  
Doctor Lecter took a breath, got comfortable again and continued his tale. "I was taken to an orphanage, terrible place, dirty, smelly, rats." He shuddered.  
  
"Most were like that at the time, you know."  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"And it's yes." Clarice corrected the Good Doctor.  
  
"Of course. Anyway, I was eventually adopted, at the age of ten. I was taken in by a young couple, apparently incapable of children. So I was well looked after. They ensured I had the best education money could buy in the area. But due to an unknown illness, my foster father passed away, and his wife, the woman she was, went to pieces, resulting in suicide. By the time all this had happened, I was twenty years old, and was preparing to make a life for myself, I had my sights set on Baltimore then." Lecter looked about the room. "After that is documented within the files of the good old F...B...I..." he hissed as he had done in the asylum all those years ago. Clarice shuddered.  
  
"So, that's how much there was missing? If they only knew."  
  
"Yes, but they don't." he replied in a soft voice.  
  
And they never will Clarice vowed to herself, knowing how much privacy meant to people. Clarice understood the immense trust he had placed in her. She felt privileged. She felt like a friend. ~ Ahhh, the warmth of friendship... oh, no... wait... just the radiator! ~ she snickered aloud, gaining another odd look from the Doctor.  
  
"And they called me insane." He said as he observed Clarice.  
  
"That wasn't funny." She said, causing the Good Doctor to chuckle.  
  
"Of course not."  
  
"Indeed, old bean, indeed." Clarice said in a stereotypical English accent.  
  
"Spiffing!" Lecter retaliated merrily. Clarice threw a cushion at him, which he caught. She threw another. He caught it again. "If you keep throwing cushions at me, I'll get the wrong idea."  
  
"You, get the wrong idea?! That's impossible!" Clarice said, throwing another at him. He proved her wrong and approached her, before Clarice could process what had happened, she was in a smouldering lip lock with the Doctor. She found herself responding in kind to the kiss.   
  
WHAT am I doing?! Clarice asked herself. She pulled away. "I- I... I can't." she said, looking to her lap. Lecter returned to his seat.   
  
"Of course not. I apologise, that was rather ungentlemanly of me. Forgive me."  
  
"You don't have to apologise. It's the thought that counts."  
  
"Right."  
  
"So, what now?" Clarice asked, wondering exactly how to get out of the mess she'd just thrown herself in. She was torn. The Doctor. The Bureau. Whom was it she had most faith in?  
  
Doctor Lecter, whom she could talk to and he would listen, he made her realise what the truth about herself was. He made her feel... exhilarated more than anything else... and cared for.  
  
The Bureau, whom gave her errands to run, who put her in tiny little surveillance vans and told her to watch somebody deal drugs. Who made her the woman she was. Who introduced her to Lecter. Who made her seethe with rage at the criminals of the world. The FBI, 'Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity'... ~ what about the 'Fucking Bastards Institute'? ~ Those who used her as a human shield against bad press. She was their scapegoat.  
  
That works she thought, snickering again. Starling realised that, although she had been with the FBI for longer, Lecter was the one she had most faith in. And him confiding in her gave her confidence around him, she felt like she could talk with him and be heard now. She knew he would not block her out. She was so close to figuring him out. So close... yet so far... She rambled on in her head, the Doctor just sat, regarding her with curiosity. The way a cat might observe the actions of a mouse before it pounces. Determining its next move.  
  
"Clarice?" Doctor Lecter broke the companionable silence that had built while she thought about everything.  
  
"Mmmm?" Clarice jumped out of her reverie.  
  
"Please stay. I don't want you to think I'm begging, but please, stay here, for a little while."  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I don't know. I'd just be grateful for the company I suppose. " Lecter shrugged. "You are free to leave anytime you want, whether it be night or day. Midnight or midday, you can leave. Just... indulge me, this once... Clarice..." Lecter said her name tenderly and softly, as if he was tasting it like a fine wine. Clarice knew what her decision was.  
  
"Sure... whatever."  
  
"You're agreeing?!"  
  
"Yah... and?"  
  
"You never cease to amaze me, Clarice."  
  
"Well, you ain't seen nothin' yet! I ain't even tryin'!" Clarice stated, using a strong West Virginian accent, stronger than before, just because she knew she got on his nerves whenever she used her accent like that... Clarice had figured that out on their second meeting in the dungeon. She figured that he sent the towel through to shut her up for a few seconds.  
  
"Well, by all means, Agent Starling, thrall me with your acumen... what do you think of Dante?"  
  
"Erm... ga?!"  
  
"School is in session." Lecter stated. Clarice was confused... very confused. Who was Dante again?! What was she getting herself into?! 


	6. Twister brings the truth

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
~ Where are you hiding? ~ Ivan thought. He had not been able to sleep, no matter how he tried. Ivan lay on his stomach, contemplating exactly where the Good Doctor might be hiding with his latest victim. ~ Hmmm... not a hotel... ~ Ivan contemplated through the night. Little did he know what was really happening.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# Take me to the place where you go, where nobody knows if it's night or day #  
  
"Honestly, Clarice, this is just silly." Doctor Lecter said, looking down at Starling, who was laying out some sort of mat on the floor.  
  
"Oh, come on, Doctor! It's fun! You lectured me about Dante Alighieri for two and a half hours... which only got us through the first three rings of hell. It's my turn!" Clarice grinned at him, getting a board with a spinner out of the box.  
  
"Clarice, I will not participate in such a harebrained activity. Honestly." The Doctor looked away.  
  
"You need to get more fun out of life." Clarice retaliated. She chuckled. "It's not like I'm going to leak this to the press! I can see it now! I PLAYED TWISTER WITH HANNIBAL 'THE CANNIBAL' LECTER! It'll be on the front page of The National Tattler!" Clarice giggled uncontrollably, regardless of their mutual hate of The Tattler.  
  
"That is not funny." Doctor Lecter said sternly. "But, for the sake of your amusement, I shall participate." He conceded. Clarice gave a polite round of applause for the Doctor.   
  
"Bravo! You must be very gallant to undertake such a task as Twister." He chuckled as Clarice snickered. "Come on... you can do it!" Clarice called supportively. He pulled a coin from his pocket.  
  
"Heads or tails?"  
  
"What?!" Clarice  
  
"Heads," he flashed the coin, "or tails?"   
  
"Oh... erm... tails." Clarice said. Lecter flipped the coin.  
  
"Heads."  
  
"Darn it..."  
  
"Indeed... I do believe you are first, my dear." Lecter spun the little pointer and waited until it stopped. "Left foot, red." He instructed. Clarice put her left foot on one of the large red dots on the mat. She spun the spinner thing for the Good Doctor.   
  
"Right hand, green." And he did so.   
  
Four hours later, and well into the late morning, Clarice had her left hand on blue, her right hand on red, left foot on green and right foot on yellow. The Doctor was equally as scattered. It was Clarice's turn to spin the little... thing. Before she could reach it, the Doctor collapsed.  
  
"GAGH!" Clarice yelped as she fell down to the mat, squashed by the Good Doctor. "You lose." Was her immediate response to the situation.  
  
"Mmmmm..." Doctor Lecter purred into her ear. He was rather fatigued, having remained awake all night, morning and probably for the rest of the day. He stifled a yawn, but was unsuccessful. Clarice giggled beneath him.  
  
"Tired?" she queried.  
  
"Mmmm..." he agreed, "indeed, I am."  
  
"Why don't you go get some sleep." She suggested.  
  
"I don't know if I can do that." The Doctor said warily.  
  
  
  
"I promise I won't go anywhere... just watch TV, listen to the radio and stuff... explore... I don't know."  
  
"Hmmm..."  
  
"I'm not lying to you..." she said.  
  
"I know."  
  
"Of course you do." Clarice slapped her forehead. "I'm so forgetful sometimes."  
  
"Well, alright... behave yourself while I slumber, worrying about what you might be doing in the kitchen." He chuckled and rolled off of her back. Clarice pouted.  
  
"What? No hamburgers? French fries... which weren't, by the way, invented in France."  
  
"Nor English muffins invented in England." Doctor Lecter added.  
  
"Indeed. Yeah, anyway, you go on to sleep, you look tired."  
  
"I am."  
  
"That's settled then."  
  
"Indeed." He turned to wards the door. "I'll probably sleep until about seven o'clock."  
  
"Okay." Clarice waved and watched him go upstairs, listening to the door of what she imagined to be his room close.  
  
~ Okay, girl, you have dropped yourself in the goo now, haven't you, eh?! You idiot!!! You are in the same house as Hannibal Lecter and you've said you'll watch TV while he sleeps... totally vulnerable to stuff like erm... handcuffs! But you don't have handcuffs! He kidnapped you! REMEMBER?!?! ~ Clarice mentally yelled at herself. ~ You know, I think I'm going insane... and I don't care ~ she thought to herself. It felt good to have all this going on in her life. As much as she hated to admit it... she really did hate her life... she really did hate being normal... she hated being 'Clarice Starling, FBI', labelled a killing machine and the Bride of Frankenstein. ~ He's not Frankenstein, it's impossible for him. He's just... different... which isn't normal... he hates normal too... he fears normal. ~ Clarice had figured it out. Hannibal Lecter was afraid of being normal. So he made himself different. Which was what Clarice had attempted, but failed miserably in doing so.  
  
~ I really am plain old Clarice M Starling ~ she thought, suddenly realising she'd made her way to the living room. Clarice grabbed the TV remote and flipped through the channels. Some of the channels she'd never heard of... how many illegal channels did he have? How many satellite dishes did he have hooked up?!  
  
"Kerrang!, MTV2, The Amp, P-Rock, Scuzz..." Clarice muttered as she flipped through the channels. The TV had been switched off when the viewer was watching 'Kerrang!' which, as Clarice observed, was a rock channel. The Good Doctor watched rock? "WHITE STRIPES!" Clarice yelped, then quieted herself as she watched the TV screen in awe, watching the new video for 'Seven Nation Army'.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# Please don't put your life in the hands of a rock and roll band #  
  
It was seven o'clock, and Doctor Lecter, true to his word, awoke and descended the stairs. There was a soft beat coming from the living room, becoming louder as he got nearer to the room.  
  
What the? Was his immediate thought when he pushed the door ajar, revealing Clarice Starling, air guitaring... Air guitaring?! The Doctor did a double take (A/N: I haven't the foggiest either).   
  
Lecter listened to the music. Evanescence (A/N: for FantaC! READ HER FICS!), it was Bring Me To Life... Lecter surmised, without question, that it was in fact one of his favourite songs. He said nothing. He did not laugh. All Lecter did was step away from the door and let Clarice continue her... moment of insanity.  
  
Clarice moved to the TV set and switched it off. The haunting melody of Evanescence ringing in her mind. She slunk into the kitchen and shuffled about in her socks again. Then, a distinct scent caught her by the nose and led her eyes to rest upon... Doctor Lecter, stirring his mug of coffee, sitting at the kitchen table.  
  
"Doctor?" she timidly said from the other side of the room.  
  
"Good evening, Clarice." Was the reply she received in a low, almost menacing voice.  
  
"Umm... hi." She greeted, suddenly comfortable around the man. "So, how are yo now you've had your sleep?"  
  
"Admittedly refreshed." The Good Doctor shrugged, smiling a sad smile.  
  
"Why so glum?" Clarice queried, admittedly a little forward, but she had to say something.  
  
"You wouldn't understand." He looked away from her and continued to study his coffee mug.  
  
"Try me."  
  
He took a swig of caffeine and sighed.  
  
"You won't understand." Lecter repeated.  
  
"You don't know that for certain, you said yourself that I somehow manage to surprise you, so why are you so sure I'm not going to understand?"  
  
~ You, old boy, have really dipped yourself in it now, haven't you? Hmmm? ~ Lecter sighed once again and thought more. An idea struck him.   
  
*~*~*~*  
  
# Slowly walking down he hall, faster than a cannonball #  
  
He sprinted along all corridors of his memory palace until he came to the room he wanted. He knocked on the door and waited.  
  
'Come in, Hannibal.' Was the voice that greeted him. He opened the door and slipped inside. On an old rocking horse sat Mischa. Hannibal went to her, they embraced. Suddenly, he felt six years old again. 'How are you today, Han?'   
  
'I'm okay, I need some advice.' He replied, surprised to find his voice the same although he felt so young.  
  
'What's on your mind?'  
  
'You know Clarice.'  
  
'Yes. I know who she is, and I know what you must do.' Her violet eyes flashed playfully.  
  
'Mischa, I have no time for games now.'  
  
'Oh, but you do, Han, you owe me.' Mischa turned from him, dismounting the horse, revealing a long red mark on her neck. It bled, as it always did.  
  
'Mischa, I could not have done more, I-'  
  
'You could and you know it!' she screeched at him.   
  
'I was six years old!' he reasoned desperately. Suddenly, Mischa calmed.  
  
'So, what do you need to know?'  
  
Clarice studied the Doctor. He had sat stone still, looking at his coffee, for the last ten minutes. She shuffled towards him a little.  
  
'Mischa, I need to know what to do. Do I tell her I think I love her or do I let her go?'  
  
'Poor Hannibal. You know I can't help with that, I'm still two years old, I'm just as wise as I was then.'  
  
'Then... of course.' It all clicked. 'Thankyou, Mischa, for your help.'  
  
'It's okay, Han. Don't wake up anymore, I'm here, I always have been.'  
  
'Goodbye, sister.'  
  
'Do what you think is right for the both of you.' Was her reply before she disappeared from his sight, no doubt playing her favourite game, Hide and Seek.  
  
"Doctor Lecter?" Clarice said, worrying a little for him. She moved the coffee cup from him.  
  
Hannibal ran like the wind through his palace, all doors locked or closed. He found his exit and readied himself for facing Clarice again.  
  
"Doctor?!" Clarice shook Lecter roughly. Suddenly, Lecter awoke from his trance-like state and grabbed Clarice, he held her down on the kitchen table, pressing a new and shiny harpy into her jugular, ready to kill. Clarice screamed. That was when the Doctor realised what he was doing.  
  
"Clarice?" he cocked his head to one side and raised a brow, totally shocked to find her there.  
  
"Doctor Lecter?" she said in a shaky voice, wearing the facial expressions of a woman equally as shocked as the Doctor.  
  
"Clarice."  
  
"Doctor Lecter."  
  
"Clarice,"  
  
"Doc-" he held up a hand to forestall any further 'Doctor Lecter' and 'Clarice' talk.  
  
"Clarice, when you asked me if I would tell you what I was so 'glum' for, I said you wouldn't understand, but I'll tell you anyway."  
  
"What just happened?"  
  
"It seems that I lost control of myself for a brief moment, please forgive me." Clarice just nodded.  
  
"O-o-okay... um... go on." She stammered, still unable to comprehend what had just occurred.  
  
"Okay..." he sighed and thought of what he was going to say. "I don't want you to leave, Clarice, I 'kidnapped' you for a reason, you know..."  
  
"Oh... you did?"  
  
"Clarice, I..." Lecter began.  
  
"Don't." was all she could say.  
  
"Why?" he stepped back.  
  
"Just... don't."  
  
"But I thought-"  
  
"You thought wrong. I-I-I want to leave, now, please." She looked at him with pleading eyes. She wanted to go home. He would take her home.  
  
'Han, don't pursue this anymore. She's not in the best of states to reason with now.' Mischa's voice sounded in his ears.   
  
"I'll drive." He said simply and left the kitchen without another word.   
  
Lecter fetched the keys to the Jaguar. He checked his watch, it was 7:47pm.   
  
~ Twelve hours, only twelve hours. ~ came a small voice in his head, ~ I had no expectations. ~ he reasoned. ~ liar, liar, liar, liar ~ the voice repeated, mocking him like a child might mock an older sibling. ~ leave me alone ~ he stated and shut off his thoughts for a while. He had one task to do and he could do it easily. Clarice, in car, no talk, silence, drop home, come back, eat dinner, sleep, wake up in morning, shop, get out of country. ~ You're running again. ~ the voice returned. ~ no, I'm prolonging my freedom, in case she DOES call the FBI ~ he replied venomously. ~ you can't trust anybody ~ the voice said, accusing him. Finally blocking the thought out, he left the study, put on his jacket and went back downstairs, the keys clinking together, jangling softly.   
  
Clarice was still in the kitchen.   
  
"Let's go, dreamer." He said bluntly, motioning to the front door. Clarice said nothing, she just followed him. They went out of the front door, after the Doctor had set the alarms, and walked silently to the car, the gravel of the driveway crunching as they did so. Lecter opened the door of the Jaguar. Clarice sat in the car. He shut the door and skirted around to the driver's side. He sat in the car and they left the grounds of the big house. 


	7. life just keeps getting worse

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
~ What would Daddy say now? 'Clarice, you've been a naughty girl. Go to your room for a while.' or something stupid like that. ~ Clarice thought, she really did not want to be alive right now. All she wanted was several bottles of Jack Daniel's, her Bridget Jones' Diary DVD and a box of Kleenex tissues. ~ I hate my life ~ she mentally repeated to herself in a mantra.   
  
Lecter had said nothing, nor had he looked at Clarice. She could tell he hadn't because all the hairs on her neck hadn't stood on end yet.   
  
She was bored. Clarice studied the various knobs and buttons on the 'radio'... it looked expensive. She found the power button and turned it on. A blast of Mozart filled the car. Lecter promptly switched the radio off. She glared at him and turned it on. He turned it off, eyes constantly on the road.  
  
On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off. On. Off...  
  
And so on. Eventually, Clarice gave in. The car remained silent. It was not a companionable and cheery silence, as though one was waiting for the other to compliment them. Instead, it was a cold silence, mocking the two in the car, making the atmosphere uncomfortable, as though one was waiting for the other to make a snide comment.  
  
In an hour, they had reached Clarice's Arlington house. He did not move. Clarice wondered what was wrong with him.   
  
"Well... bye." She said quietly.  
  
"Yes, goodbye, Clarice." He replied in a voice barely above a whisper. Clarice nodded and left the car. He immediately put the car into gear and left, driving straight out of the road, straight to the mall. He would comfort shop.  
  
Clarice slammed her front door so hard it bounced back. She kicked it closed with less force to ensure it closed. She locked it with the chain and the bolt, then flung herself on to the sofa. After a few minutes of silence, Clarice made her way into the kitchen and removed a large tub of 'Carte Dór' ice-cream, retrieving a spoon from the drawer. Returning to the living room, she skilfully turned the TV on with her toes and sat down on the sofa. No sooner had Bridget Jones' Diary started, the hairs on Clarice's neck stood on end. Clarice groaned.   
  
~ Tell me he's not here again! ~  
  
"Doctor Lecter! GO AWAY!" she yelled.  
  
"Oh, I'm not Doctor Lecter." A lean man came into view. "I just have a score to settle with him." Before she could move, the man had chloroformed her.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
All of his thinking and plotting and scheming had finally paid off. Ivan had the perfect plan. He lifted Clarice Starling's limp body from the sofa and carried her to his rental car.   
  
Nobody knew of his plan except him.   
  
Perhaps he would let Starling in on his little party plan. 


	8. car chase

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
A/N: Song is not mine (Linkin Park - Faint) and the Cadillac was mentioned for Laura  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Lecter wandered around the mall, not looking for anything, not wanting to buy anything. All he could think of was her.   
  
~ She rejected you. You're not good enough, you've never been good enough... ~ the voice returned, Lecter suddenly felt dizzy. He sat for a moment on one of the stone benches. Something was not right with him, he had been feeling light-headed for most of the day, he was becoming concerned. Perhaps it was his minds way of telling him it wasn't sure what to do next. Life just didn't seem worth living. Lecter sat a moment more then set off in the direction of the parking lot. If shopping wouldn't help, nothing would.  
  
Doctor Hannibal Lecter drove home unhappy. He had not felt so unhappy in a long time. Lecter soon got edgy and flipped the radio station from Classic to Xfm, he tapped the steering wheel in time with the Linkin Park:  
  
'I can't feel   
  
The way I did before   
  
Don't turn your back on me   
  
I won't be ignored  
  
Time won't heal  
  
This damage anymore  
  
Don't turn your back on me  
  
I won't be ignored.'  
  
He rolled the windows down, letting the blasting music out into the atmosphere, caring not one bit for whomever the music bothered.  
  
Then he saw them. In the car next to his, waiting at the traffic lights. He looked to the passenger, nobody there. He looked to the back seats. Was it? Was that? It WAS! Clarice Starling was unconscious in the back of the car, fortunately for Lecter, the driver was facing the other way.   
  
~ Why is she there? ~ he asked himself. ~ SEE! ~ the voice butted in once again ~ she had another man all along! ~ Lecter inhaled the scent of the car, he caught a whiff of it then... Chloroform.   
  
Clarice Starling had been kidnapped for the second time in twenty four hours. Lecter was instantly concerned for Starling. But he still could no see who her captor was. He changed lanes quickly and proceeded to follow the little car to its destination.  
  
~ You're not getting away from me ~ Lecter vowed silently.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Ivan had seen Lecter's car with Lecter sitting in the drivers seat (really?), tapping the steering wheel in time to the beat of Linkin Park's 'Faint'. Ivan turned and looked out of the window, away from Lecter, in case the Doctor DID look in his direction.  
  
Soon enough, the lights changed from red to green and Ivan moved into the stream of traffic.  
  
He did not see Lecter's car switch lanes.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Lecter still had no idea of the identity of the driver of the old Cadillac. He followed in his Jaguar. Apparently, the driver had not noticed the cannibalistic madman tailing two cars behind. Or maybe he had.  
  
The Cadillac swept in and out of the lanes of traffic, as if the driver was aware of its follower and was looking for a way out. At the next crossroads, the car veered left and sped off down a deserted street. Lecter followed, a small grin on his face, he had never actually been in a car chase... he had never needed to be in one. Although it was not really a car chase, he still got the thrill of it. He laughed at himself for that.  
  
It was nearing nine o'clock and the streetlights illuminated the street with their soft orange glow. Then, two sets of headlights sped through the quiet street, three cats made startled meowing sounds, four lights went on and two dogs began to bark at the sound of the car engines (and Lecter's loud radio), tearing through the silence of the street, disturbing all that resided there.  
  
As Lecter drove, it occurred to him that the sky was not quite black, but more of a swirling angry mass of grey and navy, intertwined and dotted with the odd star, moving with the night breeze slowly. Later, it would light up with the many forks of lightning, illuminating the night sky more than the streetlights illuminated the streets.  
  
"What are you doing?" the Doctor mumbled in question to the driver ahead of him.   
  
Was this all some wild goose chase?   
  
Well, technically not, seeing as it was not a goose in the car, it was Clarice Starling, and both drivers were not chasing a goose... or geese, if one were to speak in plural terms, but then again, one is not speaking, one is typing, thus causing a great deal of confusion amongst the confused ones of today's youth... and then comes my cue to say 'jolly spiffing, old chum!' and to do a happy dance and die, attempting to write this work of fiction... referring to oneself as one constantly and driving oneself to such heights of insanity that one in presently finding ones situation most overwhelming... (*sigh*) one will continue ones fanfiction now...  
  
The rest of the journey was spent in a form of autopilot for Lecter, as he retreated into his memory palace, being bored and frustrated, storming around the palace like a man possessed; he looked like he would suddenly flop to the floor and begin to screech like a seagull in a mad fit of insanity... alas, he did not (*sniffle* WHY NOT?!)  
  
Lecter's eyes flashed a much deeper, crazed shade of red and his teeth ground together in concentration as he numbly manoeuvred the Jag through a rather deserted looking street, pulling up next to the empty black Cadillac outside a seemingly abandoned building. On closer inspection, the building was, in fact, a storage facility, much like the Yourself Storage from so many years ago. 'The Big Yellow Storage' company sign was faded and old, but still visible on the plain concrete wall. The Good Doctor took out his harpy and slashed the tyres on the Cadillac repeatedly, and, just to be thorough, he unlocked the door to the trunk and slashed the spare tyre. There would be no escape for whomever held his Little Starling captive inside the building he faced. Little did Lecter know how much of a labyrinth 'The Big Yellow Storage' was. But, with his trusty nose and sharp ears, Lecter would be able to navigate... wouldn't he?  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Ivan knew the old storage facility like he knew the contours of his face. Locked in the basement room, watching a gagged Clarice Starling slowly regaining consciousness, staring dumbly at the shackles which held her to the wall. He had installed them just for her.  
  
It was so long ago that he had last been there, since he had last seen the whole place, since he had walked through the front door. He had a professional install the shackles, so he had not been there when they were placed there. All he did was mark their position on a blueprint of the basement room. Perhaps it would remind her of Jame Gumb's basement.  
  
~ Not that I want just her skin... ~ he thought crudely, leering at the groggy FBI Agent. Nobody knew she was gone still and he had no doubt that she would not be missed... unless Lecter knew where he had brought her. The last time Ivan had checked the rear view mirror, there had been no sign of the Doctor's car. But the man was unpredictable.  
  
~ Man, no... he's a monster... ~ Ivan corrected.  
  
He remembered then, his first job. Ivan Goranosovitch worked at The Big Yellow Storage facility, he was 19 and completely recovered from the 'traumatising' death of his 'beloved' late uncle of two years. He rememebered the scent of each and every storage room. Room twelve belonged to the Jones', a family of six living down his street. Room nine belonged to old Mr Davies, a grouch with so many antiques he really should have leased three storage rooms. It was nuts to think that he, a Storage Facility worker, would become a top reporter and photographer, working for the National Tattler.   
  
~ No, it was nuts to let a monster like Lecter live in the first place. ~  
  
Ignoring Starling's muffled curses coming through the gag, Ivan sat in the shadow and remembered why he hated Lecter so much... 


	9. why he hates so much

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"Doctor Lecter will see you now." The secretary of Doctor Hannibal Lecter, renowned psychiatrist, smiled at the boy of 17. He smiled politely back at her and knocked timidly on the large office door.  
  
"Come in." the now familiar metallic rasp of Doctor Lecter greeted him. "Ah, Ivan, sit, please." the psychiatrist gestured to one of the large chairs in front of the desk and sat himself in the chair behind the desk. "How are you this morning?"  
  
"I- I'm good." Ivan stammered, there was something in the Doctor's smile today that made him feel uneasy. "And you?"  
  
"I am very well, thankyou, Ivan." The smile again... something wasn't right. Why was he looking at him like that? Something was definitely wrong here.  
  
~ Oh my god... he knows... he's figured it out ~ Ivan suddenly felt very claustrophobic in the pshychiatrist's spacious office. He began to panic. ~ I wish he'd just stop smiling ~ Ivan knew that Lecter knew he knew what he had done and Ivan realised what Lecter had done, what he still was doing, what he was going to do to him. He swallowed, only to choke due to his spasmic throat muscles.   
  
"Oh, Ivan... what's wrong?" Lecter asked him, smiling again.  
  
"You!" he pointed at Lecter, "You're a murderer!" Ivan stood abruptly and pointed at the Doctor more accusingly, "You're the Chesapeake Ripper!" he said in a high and tight voice, knowing that the psychiatrist was at the advantage, knowing what Ivan's weaknesses were since they had discussed many of them during the many sessions they had together.  
  
"I am no more a murderer than you, Ivan..."  
  
"I'm nothing like you."  
  
"Oh, and why is that, hmmmm? Why did you kill your uncle? What did he do?" Lecter was taunting Ivan and he knew it, but it was enough to make the young man crack.  
  
"It was him! He did it!"  
  
"Did what, Ivan? What did he do hat was so bad, so rude of him, that made you want him dead, hmmmm?"  
  
"He killed her! It was all his fault! The rude son of a bitch killed her... he deserved what he got!"  
  
"Who did he kill? What made him so rude?" Lecter probed deeper into Ivan's mind, seeking his answers.  
  
"Her... he killed my mother! All that disgusting cheap liquor... the bastard."  
  
"And he was rude?"  
  
"Hell yes!"  
  
"And therefore you dislike rude people?"  
  
"What're you saying?" Ivan questioned him, his voice less tight and high now, somehow he knew that Lecter would not harm him yet.  
  
"I am saying that you and I are more alike than you want to believe."  
  
"No... I'm not like you... Ted had to die... you kill for the fun of it!"  
  
"You assume too much, young Ivan, I am doing the community a service, by ridding the place of the rude and disgusting members of our society."  
  
"OUR society? You forget, you're in the top ring, you're not like us... you're too... rich to understand what it is to be desperate."  
  
"A rich man is not rich in all aspects, Ivan... you will understand in time."  
  
"No, I'll never understand, you're trying to make me flip. I won't do it... leave me alone or I'll go to the cops about this."  
  
"I've confessed to nothing."  
  
"But you say we are alike." Lecter turned away to look out of his window. "Hey! I'm talking to you!"  
  
"Goodbye, Ivan, our session is over for today." was all the Chesapeake Ripper said in his metallic voice, chilling Ivan to the bone, but only causing his anger to grow.  
  
"Fine... I'm gone, Lecter... cancel all my appointments, I don't need this... I don't need you." and with that, Ivan stormed out of Doctor Lecter's office, past the secretary and out to his car where he sat and wept for all of twenty minutes. Then he figured out what he was going to do.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"Mister Graham!" Will Graham turned away from the café door to see a desperate and solemn looking unfamiliar face.  
  
"Who are you?" he questioned the stranger warily.  
  
"Ivan Goranosovitch... I have news on the Chesapeake Ripper... I know who he is."  
  
"Come inside." Graham simply said and led the clearly shaken young Goranosovitch into the café for a coffee. Little did he know what Ivan was going to tell him would lead him straight to the forensic psychiatrist that had been assisting the FBI in the case of the Chesapeake Ripper all along.  
  
After hearing Ivan out, Will began to realise what was happening... Lecter wasn't keeping anything... he was eating his victims. With the help of Ivan, he formed a plan that he would put into action later that night.   
  
Little did Graham know that Lecter had predicted that Ivan would go straight to him... and he was ready to stop Will - even if it meant killing him. 


	10. confrontation and confessions

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
A/N: I'm getting excited because this fic is nearly finished - the characters of Clarice and Lecter are more in character here, I think (thankie to FantaC for bringing that to my attention! *hugs*) Only another one or two chapters left! YAY!   
  
Reviews will be used to boost self confidence... flames will be changed into reviews somehow or other... ENJOY! =)  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Doctor Lecter stood between two flights of stairs; one leading to the upper storage rooms and the other to the basement rooms. It was here that he recalled the day that his little Starling had come to him in the basement, he remembered inhaling through the air holes in his cage and catching her perfume intermingled with her own unique scent that was Clarice Starling...  
  
L'Air Du Temps - it was as if he could smell it all over again... but he was not in his memory palace where he usually found it. Opening his eyes to reveal two striking maroon orbs, the Doctor inhaled deeply and concentrated on the air around him. It was not an illusion to his sharp senses, there was indeed L'Air Du Temps in the air.  
  
~ But does she still use it? ~ Lecter thought for a second and recalled seeing a bottle of the perfume on her dresser during one of his many nightly visits. ~ Is she wearing it now? ~ he wondered, but pushed the thought away. Hannibal Lecter was rarely wrong, and he knew this, so he decided to follow his nose - still he silently prayed that Clarice was at the source.  
  
Up the stairs, along the corridor, into an empty room, through the adjoining door, striding through a desserted office into another hallway - this one lit by the moonlight coming through the window - into the room the scent seemed to be emanating from and...  
  
Lecter hated having super-senses then...  
  
The storage room he stood in was home to three crates of L'Air Du Temps perfume, a broken bottle lay on the floor, the dried contents of said bottle had left a stain of the cheaply carpeted floor.  
  
The Good Doctor checked in the room next door which, ironically enough, housed several boxes of Nivea skin cream. At this, he had to chuckle.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"Do you know why I brought you here?" Ivan queried, not expecting any reply, watching Starling struggle against her bonds. "You've been living in a world that you have learned to hate and He taught you to hate it... but it's all a lie and you know it, why do you live in such a fake world?" He moved to the light, where his pale face revealed his obvious European facial structure.  
  
~ Austrian? Russian perhaps... Lithuanian?! ~ Clarice wondered while the other part of her brain reeled, still trying to process what was happening to her...  
  
"Doctor Lecter knows I'm here," Clarice insisted, "he'll be here in no time... he's coming." Goranosovitch however, looked at her with eyes disbeleiving and pitiful, as if he knew what she was going through.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Doctor Lecter stood between the two flights of stairs once again and thought. There was nothing upstairs and no place to hide with a groggy and unbound female on the ground floor, so they had to be in the basement. As if on cue, a cold rush of air came from the basement stairwell and with it came the unmistakable scent of human distress.  
  
Halfway down the stairs, the Doctor heard voices and was somewhat relieved to see that his little stubborn Starling was having a staring competition with a strangely familiar man, her captor.  
  
The drunk on the street! But studying him more closely from his shadowed hiding place, Lecter realised that he and the yuong man went back a while. 'Just alike' his voice rang through his memory palace as he tried to find the name to put with the face. Shaking himself back to here-and-now, the Good Doctor listened closely to their conversation, wondering if Ivan Goranosovitch had changed much.  
  
"You like him, don't you?" Ivan questioned Starling, obviously talking about Lecter.  
  
"There is a somewhat rocky and surreal friendship between us." she answered, seemingly bored with the whole 'tied up and helpless' thing that her captor expected of her.  
  
"No, no... you like him more than that, Miss Starling , I think you l-"  
  
"And what, pray tell, do you think you can achieve by doing this to Special Agent Starling, Mr Goranosovitch?" Lecter's voice cut off Ivan's sentence. He turned to see Lecter standing in front of him, smiling the smile he had smiled at him all those years ago, but this time the malicious smile was accompanied by a rather expensive and new looking Spyderco Civillian.  
  
"I'm going to prove it." Ivan informed the Doctor who continued to smile that evil little smile.   
  
"Prove what?" Lecter asked, playing dumb.  
  
"Like you don't know! You damn well knew what I did and who I went to." Ivan's temper rose.  
  
"something to do with Will Graham, per chance?"  
  
"Quit playing dumb, Doc. I killed my Uncle with rat poison and you knew it all along. You predicted who I would go to after the last session we had in your office." Ivan half yelled at the Doctor, who was still smiling. "Anyway, by killing her," Goranosovitch gestured to Clarice with a jerk of his head, "I'll succeed in proving that we are NOT alike. I can kill her even though I... like her." Ivan smiled at Clarice.  
  
"You twisted bastard!" Clarice spat at Ivan, struggling against her confines once again, but to no avail.  
  
"Oh, you're too kind." Ivan took the offensive language as a compliment. "Be a good girl and stay there." He said, imitating Lecter's voice - crappily.  
  
~ Like I've got a choice. ~ Clarice thought, glaring at Goranosovitch.  
  
"Now, now, Ivan, I think we both know that is not the proper way to talk to a lady."  
  
"Don't try and manipulate me, I'm not done yet." Ivan said, turning to face Clarice. "This... monster knew I had killed my Uncle as an act of revenge and used the information to attempt to bend me to his will. It was then that I figured out he was the Chesapeake Ripper and left to find Agent Graham - I'd read in The Tattler that he was working on the case. That night, Doctor Lecter had some fun with Will..."  
  
"And that night you were aught." Clarice finished for Ivan, speaking more to the Doctor than to herself or Goranosovitch. Lecter nodded, letting his head hang for the briefest of moments ~ in shame? ~ Clarice wondered. When he brough his eyes back to hers, she saw in them a strange sadness and apology for dragging her into the mess they were in at the moment.  
  
"Yes," Ivan broke the moment, "if he hadn't made the mistake of letting me know that it was he committing those savage and monstrous deeds, he might have-" but Lecter had apparently had enough and threw Ivan to the ground thus startling him into silence. No more storytelling...  
  
~ Genius! ~ thought Clarice, applauding silently, in her mind...  
  
The Doctor looked a bit narked actually... not totally miffed, as he had been when she'd brought up the subject of bondage when she was tied to the chair, but just fed up. Clarice got the idea that Goranosovitch had been exaggerating a lot of the facts. Ivan scrambled to the stairs, under the impression that Lecter wanted to kill him. The Good Doctor caught the young man by the ankle and dragged him back down the stairs he had managed to get halfway up.  
  
"The keys, Mr Goranosovitch." He hissed in Ivan's ear. An entire set of keys were handed to Lecter. "I see now that we are not, as I previously thought, alike. For one, you talk too much before actually doing what you set out to do, and secondly, you fear too much in the world making it an ultimately futile effort to start taking it on singlehandedly." Lecter released him and sauntered over to Clarice, well aware that Goranosovitch had bolted up the stairs.   
  
He had already predicted Ivan's next moves: he would find his car with the tyres slashed, and realising he is in the middle of nowhere, go to find a hiding place inside the Storage Facility.  
  
"Good evening, Doctor Lecter." Clarice said shakily.  
  
"Good evening, Agent Starling." he replied. "Clarice, I'd like you to answer a question that was apparently on Ivan's mind as well as mine."  
  
~ Oh God, he's giving me a second chance?! The world is going to end very very soon! ~ Clarice fretted in her head. During her time down int he basement, she had realised that she did in fact have feelings that were more than friendly towards the Good Doctor... thus causing her to believe she was indeed insane.  
  
"What question was that?" she asked dumbly, all memory having left her at the shock of the thought of Hannibal Lecter giving her, Clarice Starling, a second chance.  
  
"please don't try my patience - I'm having a lousy day."  
  
"Really? Me too!" he sighed, fed up with the childish games now.  
  
"Answers, Clarice, I need answers." he warned.  
  
"Just answers? No Quid Pro Quo?"  
  
"Delay the answers once more and I shall leave you here." was the blunt reply she received.  
  
"What was the question?" she queried again.  
  
"Do you like me?"  
  
"As a friend, if we could ever come to that sort of relationship crossroads instead of constantly hunting each other for a quick round of Quid Pro Quo." Clarice answered truthfully, leaving out what she really wanted though, not that he hadn't noted that.   
  
Friend would be a vast understatement to what they were now... the pair could never be friends, they had been lovers for too long. Their minds had been infatuated with each other since they parted in Memphis... no, they would not - could not - be friends. He knew this also.  
  
"Do you love me?" Lecter pressed on. Clarice averted her eyes to the ground. He stepped forward and just stared at her until she brought her gaze back to meet that of his own. "Allow me to rephrase: would you ever say to me 'stop, if you loved me, you'd stop'?"  
  
It was then that she realised whenever she looked into his eyes from now, he would show her his soul. She gave him a benign smile.  
  
"If you loved me, Hannibal, you'd never stop." she replied, as a tear of sweet relief slid down her pale cheek. The Doctor unlocked her from the shackles and took her in his arms but there would be no kiss this time, just reassurance that the other felt that same and had finally admitted it and they both knew that there was still a particularly big rat in the building...  
  
Ivan Goranosovitch... 


	11. to journey forwards they must go back

Disclaimer: see ch1  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Ivan sat, huddled in a corner, knowing his eventual fate lay in the hands of Doctor Hannibal Lecter. He wondered when his body would be found and what state it would be in.  
  
~ Now's a good time to start being religious ~ he thought as he prayed to whatever God there was up there for sanctuary - he did not want to go to hell.  
  
Done with praying, Goranosovitch stilled in his corner and tried to calm himself down, he just needed to think... that's all... thinking would find him an escape and he'd be long gone by the time Lecter and his pet Starling found his hiding place.   
  
They didn't know where he was...  
  
But Ivan didn't know where they were either...  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Lecter inhaled. He wasn't on the ground floor and Clarice had found no alternative escape route inside - there was nothing outside that would help Ivan if he escaped via the outer stairs, which Lecter garanteed would happen; he hadn't had his fun yet.  
  
Ivan would be subject to a torture that the Good Doctor could leave him with... down in a cold dank and dark basement... hearing only the thoughts inside his own head, seemingly echoing off the walls of the dim space he was incarcerated in. Of course, that meant chasing Ivan until he backed himself into the corner Lecter wanted him in.   
  
But that would be easy...  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Clarice was mulling over everything that had happened in her 'vacation time'.  
  
~ I've been kidnapped twice, told a cannibal who loves me that i love him back and am about to assist in getting revenge with the afore said cannibal on the whelp that attempted revenge in the first place... I... am... confused. ~ she thought to herself and sat on an overturned wooden crate, giving a sigh.  
  
"Can't we just leave him here?"  
  
"Clarice, would you deny me my fun?"  
  
"Only if I was working... which I'm not." she answered, smiling benignly at her cannibal.  
  
"Ever the slippery Agent Starling... I do hope you haven't been influenced TOO much by your bout of childish behaviour you thought would trick me into losing interest and relinquishing my ultimate control over the situations we were in... thanks to you."  
  
"Thanks to me?! What?!" Clarice rose her voice... Lecter's plan was already in action and neither Clarice nor Ivan knew what it was he was doing, even though he was using them to do it.  
  
~ He figured me out... he knew what i was doing and didn't even let on that he knew! That son of a- Oh look, he's taking again! I wasn't listening... again... ~  
  
"Huh?" Starling raised her eyebrow at the Doctor... he knew, once again, that she had not been listening - but he would repeat himself this time.  
  
"You have something on your forehead." he pointed out, observing in silent amusement as she rubbed her forehead.  
  
"Gone?" he shook his head and a ghost of a smile crossed his features.  
  
"Gotcha..." he muttered.  
  
"Wait... where's Goranosovitch now? Can't he still get out of the building? He's going to escape, Hannibal, don't you realise that?"  
  
"I'm counting on it." was the reply she received, nothing more.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
Ivan had indeed figured out how to get out of the old building. He was halfway down the outer stairs attached to the side of the building when he heard a raised voice.  
  
~ Starling... ~ he chuckled, hen silenced himself. If the lovebirds were havign an argument, he wouldn't interfere... he'd get out of there.  
  
In the parking lot, Ivan found the Cadillac with it's tyres slashed,b ut Ivan knew a few tricks of the trade himself... Lecter wasn't the only one 'up' and 'in' on the how to do's of sabotaging and hotwiring.  
  
Ivan used one of the common methods of getting into a car... breaking the window. Lucky for him, Clarice still had her voice raised... shouting something like "He's going to escape!" AND Lecter hadn't alarmed his car.  
  
~ That's just what I'm doing. ~ Goranosovitch thought with a sneer then a decidedly wicked grin on his European features. He would drive to where he wanted Lecter... he would get to where he wanted Lecter - the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane...  
  
The engine started with a roar and Ivan drove out of the lot, chuckling to himself as the car purred away towards freedom and fame. His story would outdo any of Freddy Lounds'... he was THERE... he was an innocent victim of Lecter's crime and could be witness at his trial and at Starling's... she was, after all, assisting a known felon.  
  
Convident as he became closer to his destination every nanosecond, Ivan went over the plans of the hospital in his head... goranosovitch was resourceful and, in making a name or himself, had many contacts that did not need to know a reason for him to borrow blueprints of The Big Yellow Storage Facility and the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane... he was a powerful man in a powerful position.  
  
At Baltimore he arrived, the headlamps of the Jag he left switched on and proceeded to wait in the shadows of the old abandoned Asylum.  
  
*~*~*~*  
  
"The car's gone." Clarice said flatly.  
  
"Then he has put my plan further into action than I anticipated." his gaze was met with a quizzical one. "It appears our friend is wise to my new game." Lecter said simply.  
  
"Why that scheming little-"  
  
"I remind you that it was I who came up with the game... he is merely following along - I have no doubt he thinks he'll win this time."  
  
"So, where is he?"  
  
"Clarice, it is time to go back to the beginning."  
  
"Not back there."  
  
"Back to the Asylum and back to the basement." The Doctor nodded confirmation.   
  
"So, how do we get to Baltimore without transport?" Starling queried her new 'boyfriend'.  
  
"Follow me." came the answer, and Clarice did so, following the Doctor to the outer storage facilities behind the aged building. 


End file.
